


The Writing on the Wall

by Minoukatze



Category: British History - Fandom, Medieval History - Fandom, Richard III - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minoukatze/pseuds/Minoukatze
Summary: Queen Anne Neville knows her health is failing. She has a plan to vouchsafe not only the life of her husband, King Richard III, but the future of England itself. If only Richard would cooperate...





	1. Chapter 1

“My lady, dinner is served.” Glenys, the servant, set the tray of food upon the table, bowed, and exited the chamber.

Elizabeth rose to leave, and Anne raised a protesting hand. “Bess, please stay. I should like a bit of company with my meal.”

Elizabeth smiled gratefully, nodded, and took the seat opposite Anne. Anne gestured for her to take her fill, as Anne knew that she herself would have appetite for very little.

After a few bites of the carefully prepared eel and cream sauce, Elizabeth glanced up at her aunt. “Madame, you really should partake. This is delicious.”

“I will,” Anne gamely took a sip of wine. “Enjoy yourself, and worry not for me. You were telling me about your new volumes of Boethius, yes? I should like to hear more.”

As Elizabeth launched into her theories on the texts, Anne reflected upon her niece. From the information Anne had gathered from paid servants and various hangers-on, Elizabeth had, at first, angled for Richard’s attention and attempted to shore up the loyalty of certain courtiers by playing upon their nostalgia for her late father, King Edward. Upon finding her uncle Richard indifferent, Elizabeth had apparently changed tack and appealed to the person whom she thought would most influence him, namely Anne. Anne was not offended in the slightest, instead impressed with the girl’s instincts, and found the girl to be excellent company. Elizabeth was a clever girl, and shrewd, not unlike her mother. Such a personality was necessary to survive in these ever-shifting times. She would work very well…

As if on cue, a fit of coughing overtook Anne, and she doubled over as her thin body shook, pressing her handkerchief to her mouth. Elizabeth fussed over her, and Anne waved her free hand dismissively. As it passed, Anne discreetly crumpled the handkerchief in her hand and shifted it to the other, picking up her fork and taking a bite of the pear rissoles in front of her. As she hummed with delight to catch Elizabeth’s attention, Anne covertly dropped the handkerchief to the floor and dragged it under her skirts with her foot.

“See?” Anne assured the still fraught-looking Elizabeth. “Perfectly fine. The fits come and go. Please continue.”

Elizabeth, unconvinced, nodded and did so. She had seemed genuinely concerned. That was good. The girl had a heart. It would not do for a queen’s veins to be completely full of ice water. She needed ambition, wits, but a conscience and feeling as well. It was how Anne had survived all those years ago, back when she’d been Elizabeth’s age. Back when Anne’s father had turned against the king and sold her to Margaret of Anjou and her lunatic son. Back when the tides turned again and she found herself under the care of Richard’s equally lunatic brother, George. Back when Richard decided that he needed to take the reins of the kingdom himself. It never ended. Anne was amazed at her own resilience, even now, when her body seemed to have decided that it was finished with these tumults.

They chatted for some time, and at one point, Elizabeth paused, tilting her head. The light caught her in such a pleasing manner, glinting on her rose gold hair, and Anne was struck by the girl’s prettiness. Elizabeth was lovely in a way Anne had never been, hale and healthy and full of color. Anne pushed down a brief flare of envy and concentrated on the girl’s vigor. She had a good solid build to produce children, again, unlike Anne. Despite all of their efforts, they’d only been blessed with their beloved Edward, whom the good Lord had seen fit to take back to his own Kingdom. Perhaps Elizabeth would have better success there.

“Madame,” Elizabeth remarked, grasping Anne’s cold little hand, “You’re looking dreadfully sad. Are you sure you are well?”

Anne gave yet another complacent smile and nodded. “I swear, Bess, I am fine. I-“

There was a rap at the door, and without further preamble Richard entered.

“Good evening, Anne,” he smiled warmly. “I’m glad that I was able to catch you for dinner.”

He nodded indifferently to his niece. “Good evening, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth rose and curtseyed. “Good evening, Your Grace. I hope your day went well.”

“It did, thank you.” Richard replied shortly. “Could you excuse us, please? I wish to speak privately with my wife.”

If Elizabeth were disappointed, she was too practiced to show it. “Yes, Your Grace. Good evening.”

“Bess,” Anne piped up, “Thank you. This afternoon was most pleasurable thanks to you.”

Elizabeth smiled sweetly at this, thanked her, and exited. Richard huffed under his breath after the door shut.

“You’re awfully cozy with her,” he remarked, raising his eyebrow.

“And you are not,” Anne returned. “It could do you good to spend time with Bess and her sisters.”

“I don’t trust _Bess_ ,” Richard replied almost sullenly. “She has the air of a player, weighing every interaction with calculation and scheme. You accept her so blindly.”

“I know how it is to be in such precarious straits,” Anne reminded Richard. “And to be so precarious at that age. You judge her harshly.”

“Perhaps,” Richard grumbled, scooping a portion of eel and rice onto his plate.

“She’s an awfully pretty girl, isn’t she?” Anne remarked, waiting until Richard had finished a few bites.

Richard grimaced. “She favors her mother.”

Anne knew better than to press further. Instead, she pushed her pear rissoles around her plate as Richard wolfed down his meal.

“You look pale, Little Wren.” Richard’s expression softened, and he gently stroked her hand. “I don’t think you’re eating enough.”

Anne took a bite of her pears to placate him. “I’m fine, I promise. Just a little weary after a fairly dull day. Now, tell me about yours. You seem to have something on your mind.”

Richard sighed. “Landais is back with us. Brittany is with us once more.”

“Slippery.” Anne felt an involuntary sneer cross her lips. “And how much did this cost?”

“Manpower,” Richard explained. “We need Brittany. It is only a matter of time before France regroups. The Spider is gone, but his legacy remains.”

“And _you_ speak of misplaced trust,” Anne replied archly, taking a sip of her wine. “The pretender still roams free enjoying our new ‘friend’’s hospitality. Why the pretender’s mother and her husband roam free is beyond me.”

“Stanley supported us when it counted!” Richard said, raising his hands. “And the wife has been appropriately punished-“

“We disagree there…”

“She has no real power, save a sad milksop son with a scattered mercenary army! Landais will be shipping him over to us before the turn of the year. Better to have her as an ally’s wife and keep an eye on her. What could this frail-armed woman possibly do to hurt us?”

_Have a care_ , Anne thought. _Another Margaret found the means to mount your father’s head on a pike._

“You underestimate her,” Anne stated evenly. “She had enough power to sway Landais. She has enough to catch the ear of France. Were she a man, you would have at least imprisoned, if not executed her ages ago!”

Richard drew back, aghast. “I am no monster, Anne! I would never…”

“She is dangerous! Richard, you know-“

Anne’s thought was cut short by yet another coughing jag. She covered her mouth, feeling the wadded handkerchief under her shoe. She looked up for a napkin, something, _anything_ , praying that this time there would not be blood.

“Anne!” Richard slipped from his chair to kneel before her. “My love, I am sorry! I have overexcited you. I’ll summon the doctor-“

“No,” sputtered Anne, recovering, intensely relieved that no red stained her fingers. “No, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, Anne!” Richard cried. “I should never have mentioned matters of state. I should always keep calm in your presence. I promise, I swear, from now on I shall be even.”

Anne wanted to tell him that, no, the subject matter did not drive her to a fit, the fit would have occurred regardless. She wanted to tell him that no one ever treated him with kid gloves when his old war injuries pained him more than usual. She wanted to, but, even worse than the coughing fit, tears of frustration were rising and ready to escape, and if she did say these things they would be dismissed as womanly weakness. A scream of vexation would only arise as a sniveling sob. Anne hated that aspect of her illness more than anything else, even more than its eventual theft of her life: its theft of her voice. She had once reveled in Richard’s endearing name for her, “Little Wren.” It didn’t bother her back when Richard had actually listened to her, had taken her advice into account. Now it seemed that it was all she was, a pitiful peeping bird of no account and no power.

He still knelt at her feet, though, so Anne supposed that was something. He kissed her hands, and rose back to his seat. Still unable to speak, Anne instead took several more bites of her dinner.

“How about more pleasant talk?” Richard asked with false cheer. “Christmas will be upon us soon. Why don’t we feast in fine style? We have had so little to celebrate lately. Perhaps it is time to bring some joy back into the Hall. When is the last time you purchased a new dress? Would you like to be in charge of the festivities?”

_What I would like_ , Anne thought grumpily, _is for my husband to refrain from speaking to me as if I were a delicate child. I would like to be far from this pesty place and back at Middleham, and have things the way they were before your giant lug of a brother died. I would like to be on your damned counsel, and I would like to have la Beaufort and her stooge of a husband hanged. Mostly, I would like to have our Edward here with us, but that is just as likely to happen as any of these other things._

Richard grasped her hand, and he watched her expectantly. He did mean well, after all. Anne felt her anger subside a bit. Even if she had wanted to shake him into sense.

“Perhaps that is what we need,” Anne replied, a plan already forming. “I shall send word to our merchants tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

“My lady, the fabrics have arrived. The merchants and royal tailor await you in the solar.”

“Excellent,” Anne rose. “Thank you, Glenys. I will be there shortly. Have you seen Lady Elizabeth, by any chance?”

“I believe she is in the garden, my lady,” the maidservant replied. “Would you like me to send for her?”

“No, thank you.” Anne rose. “I will retrieve her myself. I could use the fresh air.”

It would have been far easier to bring Elizabeth to her, or have her summoned to the solar, but Anne needed to prove to herself that she could move freely throughout the castle. She nodded to various courtiers as she passed, trying to keep her breath steady, then pausing in alcoves to replenish her strength. It was one of her better days. Anne only needed to take three of these rests before reaching the garden.

Anne paused at the threshold, tensing at the scene. Elizabeth stood amongst the roses, as lovely as the blooms surrounding her. Opposite her stood a woman in an all too familiar nun’s garb, sober black gown and wimple, several inches shorter than Elizabeth and yet somehow dominating the garden. Bess held a strained smile upon her face as the woman spoke intimately with her, leaning in, taking a strand of Elizabeth’s hair in her hand to more closely admire it. Anne forced herself forward, willing herself to appear as fortified as possible.

“Lady Beaufort! What a lovely surprise,” Anne strode up to the pair. “I must admit my curiosity. I was under the impression that you were not to leave Lathom.”

“And a lovely surprise it is to see you as well, _my Queen_.” Margaret could never quite keep the bite from creeping into her voice. “I was allowed to accompany my husband on this official visit. The king has been very generous, has he not?” Margaret smirked. “I had been told that you barely had the strength to leave your bedchamber, let alone venture all the way here. You’re looking rather drained, I must admit. Are you sure that such a taxing journey is wise?”

In her twenty-eight years, Anne had held hatred in her heart for quite a few people. If Margaret Beaufort were not at the top of that list, she would be damn close. Anne had never actually seen her hair, constantly hidden by the ridiculously ascetic starched white headdress, almost blending in with her flat, colorless face. Her dark eyes were never still, perpetually casting about as if she feared she would miss something, and her thin lips were pressed tightly over a distinctly lapine overbite (Anne, to Richard’s great amusement, would often refer to Beaufort as “the poison rabbit.”). She would have been merely plain, comical-looking, even, were it not for the malice constantly at work in that undeniably brilliant brain.

“My illness is greatly exaggerated.” Anne smiled graciously. “My staff mean well, but they tend to be overprotective. Good morning, Bess. I trust the day finds you well?”

“Well enough, yes. Thank you, my lady.” Elizabeth seemed caught between relief and distress, clasping and unclasping her hands before her.

“We were just speaking about family,” Margaret remarked dryly. “And how difficult it is to have them far from us, or gone altogether.”

“Yes.” Anne managed not to grit her teeth. “We are all well-acquainted with loss here. Bess, the fabric merchants are awaiting us. If you’ll excuse us, Lady Beaufort. I’m sure your husband will be missing your charming presence.”

Margaret responded with an exaggerated curtsey. Anne crooked her arm with Elizabeth’s and swiftly guided her back into the castle before Margaret could speak further.

When they walked a safe distance, Anne cast a glance over her shoulder. “The merchants come with textiles of many colors. It wouldn’t be to her taste.”

Elizabeth chuckled stiffly. Not a good sign. Whatever la Beaufort was whispering to her must have resonated at least somewhat.

“She’s a rather austere person,” Elizabeth admitted. “As if her face is likely to crack if she should laugh.”

“Indeed. Imagine having that for a mother.” Anne studied Elizabeth’s face for a reaction, and the girl’s shudder suggested she’d been doing just that.

“Still,” Elizabeth admitted quietly. “She had a point about missing family.”

“You speak as if you are alone here,” Anne replied, trying to keep pace. “Your sisters keep you company, do they not?”

“Yes, and she’ll be heading straight for Cecily next,” Elizabeth said brusquely, “But that’s not the point. I worry that I will never see Mother again.”

“You will,” Anne assured her.

“Uncle hates her,” Elizabeth stated hotly. “And he’s not fond of us either.”

“Bess.” Anne tugged her arm with one hand and leaned against the wall with the other, grateful for a pause. “I would be lying if I said that your mother was one of his favorite people, but he looks to you as family. You are under the king’s protection. No harm will ever come to you, or your mother.”

Elizabeth kept her face still, but Anne could sense the storm of emotions roiling underneath. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had a point. Elizabeth had seen quite a few of her maternal relatives outright executed over the past few years when Richard ascended to power, and “they were actively plotting against him” did not seem like an appropriate response at the moment. Elizabeth had seen herself and her siblings declared illegitimate. She really had no reason to have any fondness for her uncle, save the hope that he could secure a good future for her.

“That protection meant little for my brothers,” Elizabeth said finally.

_This is good_ , Anne reminded herself before going on the defensive. _She is comfortable enough with me to express her anger. Otherwise she would have kept silent._

“You are so sure of that?” Anne replied cryptically. “You are so sure they have perished? Do you think your mother would be so cavalier to leave her daughters in our care if your brothers had come to harm?”

“What?” Elizabeth started.

“I do not know specifically myself, and we are not to ask as it would endanger the boys,” Anne whispered. “But I am told that Burgundy is an excellent place for sanctuary.”

The hope in Elizabeth’s eyes was heartbreaking. Anne hated to give the girl such false expectations. The tragic truth was that Henry Stafford, the erstwhile Duke of Buckingham and Richard’s unctuous cousin, had had the boys murdered in his misguided bid for power. He’d waited until she and Richard were traveling up North, then struck. The blessing and curse was that Buckingham had annihilated the bodies utterly, leaving no proof of anyone’s involvement save the message he’d sent to Richard once the rebellion had begun in earnest. Elizabeth Woodville was given the same impression as Anne was giving her daughter at the moment: that her boys were sent away in anonymity to safety, not slain by the very man she’d been supporting.

“Truly?”

“Think, Bess.” Anne had caught her breath and they began their progress once more. “I assume Lady Beaufort is promising your status restored. Were that the case, what would that mean for your brothers? Do you think she is courting you out of the goodness of her heart? That she and her weedy son would just graciously step aside when your brothers return?”

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed.

“But-“ she began, then, stopped herself.

Anne already knew what she was going to say. Elizabeth was aware that her mother had colluded with Beaufort to aid Buckingham, unknowing that the man had murdered her sons. She was aware that Beaufort was still contacting Elizabeth Woodville, likely promising everything under the sun. So many twists and tangles. Anne knew them well. She pitied the girl.

“Your instincts are good, Bess.” Anne told her, gesturing her into the solar. “When it comes down to it, that is what you must follow.”

Elizabeth nodded slowly, then perused the various samples of sumptuous fabrics arrayed on the table before them. Anne picked up a vibrant green damask swatch and held it to the sunlight.

“Oh!” The tailor sauntered over. “Her Grace has a good eye. That color suits you beautifully, Lady Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth took the swatch and admired herself in the glass. The color really was exquisite on her, perfectly complimenting the roses in her cheeks and the red-gold of her hair. Apparently the juxtaposition inspiring him, the tailor immediately began to sketch gowns.

“I would like you to make two matching gowns,” Anne ordered. “One for Lady Elizabeth and one for myself. I want you to make sure that Lady Elizabeth is most radiant.”

The tailor nearly dropped his charcoal. “My lady, are you sure? That color certainly suits Lady Elizabeth, but I believe that a more subtle shade would flatter-“

“I want us to have matching gowns,” Anne insisted. “We will have other gowns as well, but for the main festivities I want to show support for my niece. Am I clear?”

The tailor nodded diffidently. “Of course, my lady.”

“This is very generous, Madame,” Elizabeth murmured uneasily. “Are you sure?”

“I am very sure,” Anne assured her.

Elizabeth leafed through the other swatches, concern clouding her features.

“Are you well, Bess?” Anne asked her.

“Yes,” Elizabeth replied quietly.

They looked on for a little while longer before Elizabeth spoke up again.

“It’s just…”

“Yes?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “It’s just that I feel like nothing more than a piece on a chessboard.”

“Very astute, Bess,” Anne replied. “Every one of us is, down to the last. At least you are aware of it. This means the position you play is ultimately up to you.”


End file.
